


Synergistic

by UnknownSatellite84



Series: Paradox [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Awkwardness, Crush at First Sight, Explicit Sexual Content, First Timeline, Future Fic, Ice Cream, M/M, Obsession, Origin Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Pre-Canon, Science Fiction, Shameless Smut, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownSatellite84/pseuds/UnknownSatellite84
Summary: 10/24/17 - ON HOLD UNTIL FURTHER NOTICEI am working on another story for this pairing that is Halloween-inspired and so I will be focusing on that for the time being. Once that fic is finished, I will resume updating this one.





	1. Inside This Fantasy It Seems So Real to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the backstory fic I promised for Reversed. Hope you all are as excited as I am to start this ride.
> 
> I tagged **underage** for this first chapter. It's consensual stuff, though.
> 
> This fic is going to be a pretty long one. I don't know yet if it'll be longer than Reversed, but I have a sinking suspicion it may turn out to be. Or it may be shorter. Who knows? I was originally going to write it out in its entirety and complete the editing before posting, but after an incident involving a laptop, a hard, unforgiving floor and a broken hard drive, I lost several edits, which set me back. I'm going ahead and posting to help keep myself inspired after that disaster.  
> For those of you who have read my one-shot drabble fic, _Vengeance_ , I will be taking it down soon as it is now outdated. I have several new headcanons that don't fit that story. The storyline in it will be incorporated into this story, and will be much more thoroughly retold.
> 
> Also, there **_will_** be explicit sexual content in this fic. Some of it will likely be dubious consent by its very nature. Eobard Thawne isn't a mentally-healthy individual, after all.  
>  If you don't like this type of stuff, please don't read.  
> Summary is subject to change.
> 
> Also, I tagged Eobard as bi. But he's like 85% into men (at least). :P
> 
> Take care of yourself and enjoy the prequel to Reversed. ;)

Prologue

The man was shocking to behold, beautiful beyond all reason and logic - dark hair, neatly trimmed and styled, face proud, handsome, nose curved up just a bit, eyes painted the color of mossy rocks, perfect teeth sitting in a perfect smile, tall form fluid and languid, confidence and power radiating from every inch of his body.

This was the Flash, Eobard knew. It could be no one else.

He blinked and the Flash was gone. Opening his eyes to blurry surroundings, he shifted in his soft bed, stirring into wakefulness. Lifelike images from the dream swam in his mind, and the entire manor felt too big and silent. There was no point in even trying to return sleep; the fatigue had vanished.

He chewed his lip, deliberating for all of five seconds before climbing from his silky covers. He stumbled in the dark, throwing on his clothes, stuffing his arms into a coat, sliding on his boots. He opened his window with a quick command and fumbled his way through it into the pale moonlit yard. Crickets' and frogs' chirps and croaks sounded in his ears like a serenade. His heartbeat accelerated as he shut his escape route manually. It snapped close, a little too loud for his liking. He paused and listened. No one yelled at him, so he stole into the shadows, hurrying across the lawn. He ghosted over the grass, silent, avoiding the family security bots with practiced ease and patience, waiting for their sensors to dim when necessary. He had a brief three seconds that he used to sprint to the city walkway.

He froze, breathing as quietly as he could with his heart pounding in his ears. There were no sirens or alarms.

He was free to do as he pleased, now. Grinning, he let himself feel proud. It had been ten months, three weeks, and two days since he'd made a mistake and gotten caught. Not that he snuck out _every_ night, of course, but it was still good.

He followed the path onward, making his way further into the city, anticipation growing. He passed by the night-time security drones that scanned him idly to ensure he was not a wanted criminal. Between the Flash and the security, crime rate in Central City was down more than it had been in the past one hundred years, maybe since the city was first built.

_The Flash._

_It's like a call,_ he thought. _It's irresistible. It's gravity. The gravity of the sun, and I'm a moon caught in its orbit, unable to pull away, unable to draw close without burning. And just like that moon, I wouldn't care in the slightest that my atmosphere is scorching away. All I care about is drawing closer and closer until I'm in that fiery embrace forever._

Every part of him was buzzing, and he was alert. Tonight could be something new. Tonight, he might actually see _him_. Tonight, somehow, someway, through some twist of fate, he could be swept off his feet.

Unfortunately, he knew it was unlikely.

He inhaled, cutting off those thoughts. The fresh night air, the sounds of insects and the glowing moon all brought a sense of peace, but also nostalgia. As he traversed the city, his thoughts wandered.

His mother had once said that when he first caught a glimpse of the timeless hero as an infant, he’d tried to say “Flash,” in his infantile coos. Well, it wasn’t the Flash he’d seen but rather a commercial version of him on a holoscreen - hardly as glorious as the true hero whom he still had yet to observe with his own two eyes, sadly. Still, as embarrassing as the story was, it had its merits because he often wondered if this was when he’d fallen in love, if he’d always been in love since the beginning.

Yes. He loved the Flash. He dared anyone to say otherwise. In his head, of course, because no one really knew the extent of his adoration but himself. No one else would understand- could ever possibly understand.

When he was older, a little larger than an infant, walking and speaking near flawlessly, he first visited the Flash museum. He remembered it so clearly, like it had only been a day ago. Perhaps _that_ was when he’d fallen in love. He went as often as possible after until his parents had insisted he was "getting too old for that”. That didn’t stop him from making excuses to keep going by himself, often in secret. He could never stop his devotion to his hero. After that first museum visit the dream of the beautiful man came to him, and kept coming. The dreams never stopped, coming and going like the wind, on a whim and without control. Something told him they would always be apart of him.

When he was older, just starting to bridge the gap between childhood and adolescence, he first became intimate with disaster, with the possibility of death. On that beautiful day, with the sun shining surreally bright on Central's magnificent, towering skyrenders, he was running along the walkway. He loved running, always had. It was a hobby and routine, a practice for his track team at school, the only sport he’d joined because he imagined that when the Flash was in high school, he was the star of the track team. Eobard had been determined to be the same. He’d ran and ran and ran, lungs burning but his heart so happy, his brain imagining the world racing by faster than any regular person could think, daydreaming of what it’d be like to be a speedster - a hero.

He recalled a flash of light as the sun glinted oddly off the object, the moment his gaze had turned. The malfunctioning cargo carrier had loomed, throwing shadows over him, careening off the road in his direction. The world slowed, like it would for a speedster, and he saw what had seemed to be the inevitable wall of death approaching. 

He’d half-thought that the Flash would save him.

Flash hadn’t.

 _Run, Eobard. Run,_ a voice had whispered in the silence of his thoughts. But he couldn't move at all, frozen in time, but time not frozen for him.

On impact, Eobard broke his back in three places and became paralyzed from the waist down. For three horrible weeks, he was confined to a hoverchair before he could undergo a corrective procedure to restore his spinal cord. He remembered the relief he’d felt, being able to walk again. He remembered thinking the Flash would have just regenerated such an injury in a few short hours, though the hero would have been far too fast to sustain such damage in the first place. He forgave the Flash for not rescuing him; he loved him. Flash had probably been saving someone who was _actually_ about to die in that moment.

He had understood, as anyone should.

Years after, when the onset of hormones hit him, he began to explore the concepts of puberty, and more importantly, sexuality. It was inevitable. He had started having fantasies of his hero - some risqué, some chaste, but most involved them being together, loving each other unconditionally. It was then he knew he had been in love for as long as he could think.

Slightly older, he first had sexual intercourse in his bedroom at a rather over-expressive Christmas party held by his family that he'd escaped from. He remembered envisioning the Flash in spite of the fact his partner was nowhere near as glorious, and also that the entire situation had been more awkward than fun. But he just couldn't help it. There was no else he wanted more, needed more.

Then someone had told him of Dream Rapture.

Eobard felt a tingling sensation in all his limbs. He crossed the walk, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy. He knew this well - too well, perhaps - but that didn’t stop him. Carving a pattern into his bottom lip with his teeth, he passed to the brightly-lit building of pink and blue neon glaring back at him. The coquettish sign luridly stood out above its door. It declared in bold, smooth letters-

_Dream Rapture._

He swallowed. _Really, Eobard, nerves shouldn’t be a problem._ But it always bit at him like a stray dog chasing his heels. There was the faintest hint of guilt, throwing his funds at this. He was lucky he didn’t have his capital tracked like some progeny of wealthy families did, that he _himself_ wasn't tracked. He was just as lucky that this place was well-adored for its...discretion. But how could he feel guilt for what was meant to be? He shook his head and entered the automatic doors. The quiet slid over his eardrums like a comforting blanket, and the hazy light shining through warm, foggy mist gave a sense of secrets and mystique. He strolled up to the bot at the booth. It had dark, metallic parts and eyes that glowed a soft blue.

“Welcome, Sir,” it greeted with a sultry voice. It shifted just slightly.

"H-hi." Eobard lifted his holoblock for scanning. The indigo light flicked over it. He breathed with forced slowness, though he could feel his heart beating against his ribs like a savage primitive pounding a stick on a tree, one part triumph, one part aggression.

“Thank you for returning, loyalty customer Eobard Thawne. Would you like for me to review rules and restrictions for your privileges?”

“No, thank you.” He knew them by heart.

“Very well. Room twelve is available and ready. Enjoy your stay, and please notify me at once if you encounter any issues.”

“Thank you.” Eobard’s mouth had gone as dry as the Sahara Desert.

Mind unfocused, he pivoted on his heel and walked down the thickly-padded hallway. It was silent. He passed rooms all glaring with red lights in their doors. Eobard watched for the green-

_12_

_There._

He closed his eyes hard, sucking in a sharp breath. He opened them again and tried to work saliva into his dry mouth. He raised his hand, seeing it in the nebulous lighting. He barely recognized it, like this. He barely recognized himself, at times. He pressed it to the small panel. The doors slid open, and he stepped into the room. The door locked behind him. The room was decorated with plants and flowers and a small fountain at the side trickling a tiny stream of clear water. The sound calmed Eobard- to some extent, anyway.

Eobard crossed to the thick-padded reclining chair. He sat in it. It adjusted, accommodating to his shape and height. He leaned back into it, shifting until he was in a better position. He placed the provided helmet over his head. He closed his eyes, inhaling, exhaling. Calm washed over him. He sank into it, into an ocean. Blackness crawled across his vision, drawing shadows over his thoughts. With a deep inhale, Eobard smelled a thick sweetness. The blackness went red.

_Roses._

No one in the world knew they were his favorite flower. No one knew how much he adored flowers in the first place. No one knew that the rich hue of rose petals reminded him of the one person who he admired most in the world. No one knew that he found the spikes on the stem intriguing, how something so beautiful was so thorny. No one knew that he'd pricked his finger on the first rose he'd ever lay hands on, that a small bead of blood had trailed down the lines of his skin, and he'd watched, fascinated-

He opened his eyes. He stood still, his bare feet pressed against soft carpet. He took in the grand master bedroom, appreciation filling him. The thick, lavish drapes were drawn to shade the immediate space in a comfortable blush. The bed itself was awash with extravagant furnishings. He moved automatically and brushed his hand across it. It was satin, inviting, and so perfect under the skin of his fingers, caressing his palm with a pleasant feel.

An electric noise split the air.

Eobard took a deep breath. He turned. His eyes locked onto the object of his endless affection. The man dressed from head to toe in a red suit of golden lightning bolts had eyes that were electric and beautiful, dilated in the dim lighting, a flicker of candlelight swaying there. His arm lifted. He pulled back his cowl, shook his head before splaying his fingers over his scalp. His hand dropped, and his potent gaze burned into Eobard.

He was the man from his dreams - utter perfection redefined - the ultimate form of humanity, the trinity of goodness and power and love.

"Welcome home, Eobard," he murmured, voice richer than summer air. "I missed you."

His pulse raced. "I missed you too."

"My love," Flash murmured, moving forward with graceful strides. He drew the young man into his arms, kissed him so tenderly. His hands ran across his back, fingers massaging through the cloth of his shirt. Eobard leaned forward, pressing his cheek against his shoulder. He could smell him, a scent that was only the Flash's. It was safe here, comfortable, wonderful. Eobard's arms went around the man, and he held on, not wanting to let go. "I need you tonight, Eobard."

“I want that," Eobard whispered. A knot formed in his chest, but he pushed it away. Now was not the time to feel regret for what couldn't be. "I wish..." he trailed off and shook his head at the attentive expression. His eyes dropped. "I...just want you to know that I'll love you more than I'll ever love anyone else."

Flash's fingertips slid under his chin, lifting his face up. His eyes seemed endless. "I know." He connected their lips.

He _tasted_ good.

The aroma of ozone amalgamated with that of roses from the candles pirouetting like ballerinas on their wicks. The warmth of the Flash’s body flowed into him. He felt a breath of air against his skin, heat from the outline of inviting lips. He fixated on them, saw the pink tongue that traced them. He focused above them, into the wanting eyes. The desire burning within sent a powerful thrill through him. He leaned in and took the offered lips.

_How can you love someone you've never met with such strength?_

Flash stripped Eobard with loving tenderness, admiring and praising. He pushed him back onto the bed. “I will come with you tonight, Eobard,” he whispered as he nibbled at Eobard's ear. He mouthed lightly along Eobard’s face and neck, and the young man sighed with contentment. “There, there,” the hero whispered near. “You are incredible, Eobard. You are mine, and I want no one else. You are the only one.” He teased his lover's bottom lip before pulling back and baring his own godly body. All of his muscles rippled with impossible power.

_How do I feel this way?_

_He is the sun._

“Flash,” Eobard whispered, breath vanishing, “Flash. _Please_. I want you.”

_I'm the moon._

Strong fingers wrapped around him, stroked him, granting pleasure. Flash fell over him and captured his lips again, undulating. Eobard pressed back, skin warm on skin. The pressure of their bodies sent more blood rushing through his groin. He groaned, in heaven, and in that moment -

_We're a couple born from the universe._

“That’s it,” Flash breathed, hands roaming over Eobard's body, “I want you, and only you.”

“Please. Please.” Eobard saw the bottle very briefly. Wet fingers slid into him. He gasped.

Flash hummed, sonorous. “There, there.”

Pretenses of self-control vanish. Eobard's head fell back, and his muscles shuddered. Those fingers stroked along, knowing just how to ruin him. He moaned. There were stars here in this space between nothing and everything. His whole universe trembled in the wake of something undefinable.

“Yes. _Yes_."

_There are light years between us._

Flash let out an appreciative noise, his eyes affixed to the young man. Eobard tugged, drawing him into another desperate kiss, needing it to be as real as it felt. The hero's free hand explored across Eobard’s body, each flex full of compassionate, loving gracefulness.

_We'll never collide._

Flash's skin shone. His eyes were like stars, drawing Eobard in forever with their gravity. He murmured. “Are you ready?”

The fingers withdrew, leaving Eobard begging for more until he felt the hero press back against him.

“Yes,” Eobard said. Yearning seeped into his voice. “Give it to me. I need it to be real now.”

_In spite of that..._

Flash inhaled, brushing their lips together with the slightest effort. He pushed.

Indulgent sounds escaped Eobard's throat, traveling throughout the room in a single moment.

This was destiny.

The air buzzed. Flash’s body pressed over him fully.

“ _Eobard_."

“Oh-oh god,” Eobard gasped, the feeling overwhelming. "Flash."

Everything was on fire.

_The sun and moon do come together, though._

_It's called a solar eclipse._

“I...love...you.”

“Love...you...more.”

Flash shifted in a rhythmic motion, settling into it with a slow pace. Gentle, they drifted through space and time together. Eobard curled his fingers into the bed. Everything else froze, unimportant. Flash's light overshadowed him, and he loved it.

_It plunges the world into darkness._

“Hey, Eobard, look at me,” Flash said softly. “Please. I need to see your eyes.”

Eobard realized he’d closed them. _Never here,_ he thought. He locked onto the man’s gaze.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again.

"I am."

_In totality, the moon is a black, undefinable shape - the sun, a ring of light._

_Perfect synergy. The whole of the sum is greater than its parts._

Flash pushed faster and faster, moving them in unison. Eobard lost himself to it, lost himself to this heaven. Flash had him in a magnetic hold, a gravity pull, inescapable. They were one, as it was meant to be. He cried out, a sound lost on him just as he was lost to it, the powerful intensity surging through his veins. A similiar melody escaped the Flash’s throat, falling from above, and Eobard melted in his bliss and his lover’s pleasure. He could feel it in waves.

Eobard felt like he could fly. “Flash,” he groaned. “My love.”

_There is nothing more beautiful._

Flash kissed his forehead lightly before withdrawing. He took the young man into his arms, nuzzling his hair. Eobard sighed. He dreaded the end of the illusion, the simulation. He wanted to just stay here in the Flash’s arms forever. He was alive here as he was nowhere else. But it wasn't real, and it never would be.

How could it be? The real Flash would never want _Eobard Thawne_.

“You’re everything I could want in life,” Flash murmured.

“I feel the same,” Eobard agreed, feeling the rise and fall of the hero's warm chest. His skin was smooth, unmarred. Eobard traced it lightly. He wanted it to be real, wanted it so bad it _hurt_. “We found each other. We needed each other. We were alone, but no longer.”

"You'll never be alone," Flash breathed in his hair. "No matter what happens."

Eobard curled tighter against him. His body heat was so relaxing, the pressure between the two of them reassuring. His scent and sound was all around him, the hint of roses still in the air. He looked up, saw the candle flames in the man's eyes, saw the passion and protectiveness. He pressed his face against the hero's neck and felt a hand trace down his back, rubbing. He closed his eyes.

He opened them to the darkness he knew was room twelve. He pushed up the helmet, taking in his surroundings. He was sprawled in the chair, and the air was decidedly bland without the roses and ozone. An ache clenched in his chest, knotting intensely. He lay there for a few minutes, swallowing at the lump in his throat. The simulation didn't _feel_ fake. It felt like a memory. He loved his hero. He would _die_ for him. So many nights, he stayed up, tossing and turning, daydreaming of ways he could meet up with him and how they might fall in love. But the reality was that he was alone. He loved with all his heart, but he would never be loved back.

_I wish..._

He realized something was wrong below. He felt the wetness and looked down. “Oh, shit. Whoops.”

He'd been so eager, so nervous, he had forgotten to take measures against such an eventuality.

 _Oh well._ It was easy enough to replace clothing.

His eyes drifted to the replica of the Flash ring he’d owned for years now. If he never had the Flash, he tried to comfort himself, maybe he could at least realistically hope he would find someone who shared his love of the Flash.

Then, they would understand each other perfectly.

* * *

Chapter One

Eobard's thoughts drifted to the past more often than he liked to admit. They drifted to the boy he'd been and to the man he'd once loved with all his heart - a man who didn't even know he existed. He'd long since stopped daydreaming about the hero of Central City. He'd quit his clandestine membership at Dream Rapture and thrown himself into more practical and logical pursuits - teaching, science, working for the future. Now a left-brained, rational, twenty-six year old working as a researcher for Siren Labs, he rolled his eyes at those days, at his younger self. He sipped a cup of coffee in the privacy of his office.

 _So why do I still sometimes dream of him?_ Eobard often wondered. He'd always assumed it was a side effect of misplaced adolescent adoration. He'd grown out of that, sure, but the dreams were still so vivid. But it didn't matter, not really. Thanks to those frequent visits to Dream Rapture, he'd probably engrained the visions into his mind too deeply to ever truly uproot them, regardless of his infatuation level - which was zero.

He pushed that thought away and massaged his eyes. He spoke to the terminal, his mind shifting to a stop every now and again as he watched the words write themselves across the projected holoscreen. He took another sip from his warm coffee. His gaze wandered the sentences before him, ensuring they were worded in a manner that was most efficient and made the most sense.

A commotion of noise reached his ears. Sighing, he looked away from the writing and leaned back in his chair. The door flew open and the man stomped across the room, straight towards him. More subdued in movement, his boss, Dr. Alexander Whittaker followed the agitated man into the room. Eobard perked up. The incoming dose of adrenaline would do wonders for his morning fatigue.

"Professor Thawne," the angry visitor practically spat.

"Tobias Rowley. What may I do for you today?" Eobard suppressed a smirk. Oh, was he thankful to be so much more intelligent than most others, the advantages he had over the average idiot.

"Don't even _pretend_ to be innocent."

" _What?"_ Eobard drank more from his coffee.

"I know we have our differences, but I _cannot_ believe you'd go so far as to hack the grant, _Professor_. Somehow, the capital  _mysteriously_ wound up in a charity fund for the poor, and thanks to some random coding that apparently came out of _nowhere_ , it's impossible to prove the funds were originally intended for the grant!" He laughed derisively. "Meaning - I will _never_ get the capital I need to continue my project!"

_Figured that all out by yourself, did you? You must be proud._

"You think I don't know who is at fault, _Thawne_?"

"You think I did it? That literally makes no sense," Eobard pointed out. "Who hacks a grant and gives it to a charity?"

"Maybe someone who already has plenty of money for himself - like you. You could live the rest of your life in luxury on the funds your family has; you don't even  _need_ this job like some of us. But, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe _Robin Hood_ is responsible," responded the idiot with a sneer. "Is that who you want to be? Robin Hood? Like the green guy from the twenty-first century?"

 _Robin Hood? Green guy?_ Was this moron _serious_? Green Arrow. _Green Arrow._ Eobard said nothing, though, knowing the more Tobias said, the more ridiculous he sounded. He could dig his own grave without Eobard's help. Besides, he wasn't about to get into a debate over heroes with someone who was inferior in understanding them. He shrugged at Tobias, raising his brows. _What do you expect me to say, Professor Rowley?_

Tobias shook his head. "I've got investigators on this. You better watch yourself, Thawne. You could go to prison for this if they find even a _single_ byte of data suggesting you did it." He glared and spun, storming out.

Eobard kept his expression blank.

Dr. Whittaker spoke up. "Well, that was...intriguing."

"Was it?" Eobard asked. "It was actually rather boring, in my opinion."

He shook his head. "There's no evidence, true, but Rowley has been here longer than you, and I've never had cause to suspect him of anything foul. Now, you on the other hand... You have potential for this kind of mischief."

"You truly think I hacked that grant? That's silly, not to mention petty." Eobard shrugged for the second time. "I have more important things to do, and I don't waste my intellect on silly things like revenge... I don't know, Dr. Whittaker, Tobias has always had an issue with me. He hates my family. You know people don't think rationally when they hate someone."

The man frowned. "Just watch yourself, Professor. Time catches up with us all. If this is some kind of terrible joke and you are in fact responsible for it, you should be aware that no one finds it funny. Not even Dr. Rosling." With that said, his boss turned and left.

CEO Dr. Rosling, huh? Tobias was raising quite a fuss, indeed, over those funds. Though it was to be expected. He was a man up to his ass in debts.

Hardly Eobard's fault.

He scoffed into the empty room. As if they could threaten him. As much as he hated this job for the people and the environment, it paid well, and it'd been secured already by a deal with the CEO. They couldn't fire him without good cause, and Eobard would never give them one because he was far too smart. Dr. Whittaker was - unfortunately - slightly more intelligent than the other idiots that worked here, but Eobard was confident that his boss didn't have a way to act on his suspicions. In fact, it was probably a good thing. Dr. Whittaker reminded him that whatever he did, he had to use his full intellect to accomplish it, and exercising his mind was just as important as exercising his body with early-morning runs.

Yes. He still loved running.

He finished the report and told the the HS to switch to the news station, NGCN.

He grew still, staring at the headline.

_Flash to Attend Press Conference for the First Time since the Death of the Second Flash, Wally West, Thirty-Two Years Ago._

He blinked and rubbed his eyes as if they needed punished for deceiving him with false hope. But when he looked again, it still said those words exactly. _How?_ How hadn't he heard of this before now? He leaned forward, disbelieving but listening. Maybe this was a dream. Two weeks. _Two weeks_ from _now,_ and he could see the Flash in real life.

For the first time, Eobard Thawne could see his hero, something his teenage-self might have died for. He had to, for the boy he'd been, if for no other reason. He had no unrealistic expectations now, after all. He was mature. He would go, he would see, and he would carry the precious memory to his grave. 

He smiled, child-like excitement growing even as he pushed it down.

* * *

Eobard Thawne saw the hero for the first time, at a distance, saw him stand before the countless news drones, the thousands of people. He weaved as close as he could, which wasn't really that close at all, as Central City's main square was crammed to its limit. He saw him, though, and that was all that mattered. He was a blur, resonating color and speed and sound, a god among men, so beautiful. Eobard thought of the man from his dreams, how it could be him. Flash's voice was like he'd known it would be, deep and resonate, but also vibrating. As he answered questions, his words were professional, his statements to the point. He never showed an ounce of emotion, even as he was asked to recount the death of the other Flash - Wally West. 

The hero nodded and smiled at other questions. Yes, he would sign autographs. Yes, he was returning to the public eye. Yes, he was now going to regularly do press conferences again. Yes, he was still a part of the Justice League - nothing had changed, he'd just decided to take a break from publicity. Yes. Yes. _Yes_ -

"Flash, will there be a replacement for Wally West?"

The smile dropped like a fly in a bug radiator. The first hint of emotion left the Flash and speared through Eobard's heart. It was like anger but tinted with sorrow and pain. And even with the distorted blur of his face, Flash's eyes locked with Eobard's own in that moment.

Eobard forgot how to breathe, every inch of his tingling.

 _"No,"_ Flash replied. _"I am no longer training heroes or sidekicks."_

Eobard felt paralyzed for some reason.

"Is there a specific reason, or should we assume the death of the other Flash is the cause for this decision?"

_"No comment."_

Flash's gaze flicked away, utterly dismissive.

Eobard inhaled, dizzy. He'd literally stopped breathing. What was wrong with him?

When it was over, Eobard felt...nothing. He went home, the strange hollowness resounding through his core. He was just a face in a crowd. Flash hadn't even seen him, it was just his imaginative mind playing tricks on him. That's all he would ever be - an unknown fan that didn't even deserve the time of day. But that was okay. He was like anyone else. He was _not_  in love with someone who didn't even know him. That'd be pettier than hacking that grant and potentially creepy.

Why was he so... _affected?_

_More lingering psychological effects from Dream Rapture, I suppose._

Whatever, it was over now. He wouldn't go to any more press conferences. He'd seen the Flash once. It was enough.

His holoblock pinged.

He looked at the projected message from-

_Eisla Thawne:_

_The Spring Festival tomorrow, Brother. Don't be late._

He sighed, dropping the device, remembering the promise he'd made once when his sister had cornered him. He had to go. Eobard wasn't going to go back on the promise, as much as he _really_ wanted to.

It was official now. Life hated him.


	2. I Was So Enchanted to Meet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! An update. Finally! XD College and work have kept me busy, but I'm trying to get in some writing in my downtime.
> 
> This chapter was heavily inspired by the song, Enchanted by Owl City. ;) Yes, that's how I named my OC.

_I suppose I should be grateful they were able to fix the security system at the labs. I thought that little incident would spare me from a lecture, but it didn’t. Still, I should go in early tomorrow, try to finish up that report before the esteemed Dr. Whittaker has a heart attack... I_ _wish this champagne was something stronger. Why, Eobard, why did you agree to this? You should have said no, but Eisla pulled that puppy-dog look, and now look where you are. Here._

“Eobard.”

He blinked and looked up from the honey-colored contents of his glass. His mother and sister both looked back at him expectantly.

_Speaking of..._ “My apologies. I didn't catch that."

"Is everything fine?" Eisla asked, tossing her golden hair back. It was down tonight, and she looked even younger than she was. She could have passed for sixteen, even though she was twenty-one, legal drinking age and all. She was taking full advantage of it, too, a champagne glass sitting in one hand. Eobard still had trouble believing her age. Eisla had always seemed like an adolescent to him, his kid sister.

He could still remember with perfect clarity seeing her in the hospital for the first time, no bigger than the cat he'd once owned.

"Yes," Eobard said. " _Everything_ is perfectly fine. What were you saying?"

She sighed, pulling a face which was quickly disposed of, likely when she remembered they were surrounded by several high-class individuals. "I asked if you had met the Damon-Cowels yet," she said, voice and posture hiding agitation.

"Actually, I have," Eobard lied, studying his cuff to mask the utter boredom he felt. "Interesting family." That was a generic description for any family, right? 

His mother spoke up, "they moved from Star City a few weeks ago."

"Mmhmm."

"They have a daughter, Eobard, about your age."

"Single," Eisla chimed knowingly.

"Well, I assume their daughter will be just as welcome here as her parents are." Eobard didn't miss the tactless implication. He simply chose to ignore it. Eisla was just trying to irritate him, after all.

Mrs. Thawne nodded, face giving nothing away. She likely knew it was useless at this point to try and convince her son to be more social, but there were some habits that just didn't break.

"You said Father was on business?" Eobard asked her.

She nodded, something shifting behind her gaze.

Eobard, curious to know if it was anything to be interested in, commented, "Odd timing for business, this late in the evening."

"There was a mishap with the corporation - nothing to worry about, but he does have a long night ahead of him."

"Come on, Eo," Eisla broke in before Eobard could reply. "Don't change the subject."

"I told you not to call me that, especially in front of guests."

"No one's listening. Besides, _I'm_ your _sister_." She said the word like she had to remind him.

"Sister or not, it doesn't change the fact that it is a terrible name."

"You just dislike it because it makes you sound cute and sweet."

Eobard sighed, praying for strength. "No, it doesn't. It is a name that evokes the image of an idiot, Sister. And you can take that as literally as you choose."

Eisla giggled. "So, does that mean you still don't have a girlfriend?" Her expression grew sly, and she winked, "...or _boyfriend?"_

His mother kept a perfect poker face, but Eobard knew her subtle cues well enough to recognize amusement - the slightest crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the twitch of lips wanting to curl upward.

Great.

"Even if I wanted to gossip with you, Eisla," Eobard said, resorting to a poker face, "if I had someone, don't you think I would have brought them with me tonight?"

"I suppose so," she let up slightly. "Though I know how hard it was for you to come yourself, let alone bring someone you want to impress."

Eobard couldn't stop from rolling his eyes this time. He berated himself afterward. It was a brief movement, one that likely went unnoticed by everyone but Eisla and his mother, but still highly unprofessional. He ground his teeth and pointedly turned his back on his sister. _God_ , _I hate these gatherings with all of my-_

His breath hitched.

Eobard’s eyes met another’s, doe-brown, so friendly and honest it had to be a crime somewhere on the planet. The man's face was angular and handsome. Eobard noted the unusual hairstyle where long, dark locks formed an almost archaic-style that somehow went perfectly with his clean-shaven jaw. So few would choose such a look for themselves, to be distinguished in such a way. There were proper ways to differentiate oneself, but this man was not of the common mold that made up the higher classes of Central City, it seemed. 

His  _attire_. His clothes were white, like snow, and a blood-red ruby jewel rested against his chest. Against the expensive background of the Thawne manor and the group of people he stood with, he looked alone. His style marked him apart, yet he looked so at ease, so unbothered, that he must have charmed half of the visitors to forget his differences in mere minutes.

And he wasn’t so different from the man in Eobard's dreams. There were key differences, of course, as well as minor ones. His hair was too long, eyes the wrong shade, his jaw a bit too wide and so on...but still, it had to mean something, right? Eobard pushed away the weird disappointment that crawled through him in that moment and pretended it never existed.

“Excuse me,” Eobard said to his parent and sibling. "I'm going to go mingle."

"Do you mean _hide_?" Eisla asked, not bothering to mask her annoyance this time.

Eobard didn't respond. He walked away. As he put one foot in front of the other, he saw the other man weaving towards him as well. That wasn't a coincidence, right?

“Hello.”

There he was, standing right in front of him.

_Um._

Eobard swallowed and cleared his throat. “Hi,” he managed before the mansion collapsed around him. The sound was jarring, loud.

“Eobard Thawne?” The man asked.

“Yes, that is me,” Eobard returned, fighting away the nervous chuckle in this chest. “But you have me at a disadvantage here.”

“My name is Taelor. Taelor Patel.”

A hand was offered to him as if it was the most normal thing in all the world, which it was, Eobard knew, but it was a little surreal, too. He forced his own arm to move, and he locked his fingers around the man's. Warmth and strength was his impression. The grasp sent energy surging through him. His smile grew, stomach filling with butterflies. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, and they were the truest words he’d spoken all night.

“And you,” Taelor responded with a smile that couldn’t be fake.

Unless it was. It wasn't like Eobard was the master of recognizing false kindness. _God, please don’t let this be obligatory politeness I’m witnessing._

That voice, it was so friendly and musical and inviting, not as deep or sonorous as Flash's, but just as pleasant.

Eobard had never felt like this before - well, not for a person who wasn’t the Flash, anyway. He’d dated people in school, in college, but this- this was like a ray of sunshine breaking through after a week of overcast skies.  _This feeling is incredibly powerful._ He’d never felt true infatuation for anyone but the Scarlet Speedster, and though that infatuation had been stronger in his younger days, he’d outgrown it. This, in this moment, felt _possible_.

_Taelor Patel. Such a beautiful name._

“Mister Thawne?”

“Oh, please, people call my father Mister Thawne. For me - it’s professor.” Eobard winced. “I mean, I-I’m not actually a professor anymore, but I used to be and I do have the degree and so people still c- You know what? Just call me Eobard. Eobard’s fine - it's perfect.” He wanted to sink into the floor straight to the Earth’s core and melt so he wouldn't have to deal with life for even another second.

_No no no…_ This man would be gone in an instant. Eobard sounded like a perfect idiot now. He had never been good socially. A man like this- Well, no one understood Eobard Thawne - no one. He would just have to pretend none of this happened after tonight.

“Okay, Eobard,” said Taelor with a small smile. “Call me Taelor.”

His heart jumped.

_What?_

Taelor _understood_?

People didn't just- He really was different- _Oh god._ It _occurred_ to him- Did he seriously just put them on a first name basis after them knowing each other for the whole of a few minutes? He hoped _that_ wasn’t taken the wrong way.

Eobard rubbed his jaw, trying to batter away nervousness. He needed to change the subject - fast. “Uh, h-have we met? I could swear that I’ve seen you before.”

Taelor’s brows shifted. “It’s possible, I suppose, but I don't think so.”

"It's just... You seem familiar."

“It must be my face... So, if you are no longer a professor, Eobard, what do you do?”

“I work for Siren Laboratories- mostly lab stuff,” Eobard said. “We’re _paving the way for the future_...or so the motto claims.”

Taelor’s eyes brightened, shifting around the room. A playful expression came over his features. “You don’t think so?”

“Well, if we are,” Eobard said, emboldened to joke, “I think _slaving our way into the future_  would be a more appropriate motto.” Oh, that was _moronic,_ yet Taelor still laughed. Eobard knew he needed to reign it in a little and try to recall his upbringing while he was at it. While never very social, he was once better at this, and now, he almost regretted that he wasn't more practiced. He cleared his throat. “Er, so, what is _your_ profession?”

“I am the conductor of Central City’s Historic Symphonic Orchestra.”

“Conductor? Wow! I love that symphony.” Triumph hit him like that Cargo Carrier from long ago. “And of course! I should have known before now, but I was certain I’d seen you before! I’ve seen you conducting!” He decided not to mention that he hadn't been in almost a year. That fact seemed irrelevant.

“That is me,” smiled the handsome man.

“I’m an admirer of your work,” Eobard blurted without thinking.

Taelor’s brow raised. “Really? Then should I infer that you’re attending next Saturday, to hear our latest performance?”

“Of course,” Eobard exclaimed before he could remember how to think. “I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

The conductor nodded. “Perhaps I will meet you again, then. Now, I apologize for cutting this short, but I have to leave this lovely party early. Hopefully, Eobard, this is not where _our_ story ends, eh?” He winked, nodded, turned, and strode away.

Eobard watched him, frozen. Was that what he thought it was...?-

_Lovely party? Well, I guess no one's perfect._

It was far too soon to think it but-

He couldn't help it. Taelor Patel could be the one. He could. It wasn't an impossibility. He was so kind and sweet and understanding. He even liked Eobard, and that wasn't all that common. That man's stare, it contained that bit of infatuation needed to convince him to a date, he was sure. But what if it didn’t? What if he was reading something into it that wasn’t there. Well, he may as well try...

_Please let this be...something._

Eobard left the party a while later, still enchanted by his brief meeting with the beautiful man. He envisioned them together. They’d kiss tenderly, buy each other roses, go on picnics at the waterfront. Eobard would attend his symphonies. Taelor would look confused when Eobard wrote equations on the holoboard in their house. But they would laugh at comedies and have candlelit dinners, and-

He wouldn’t need the Flash.

Taelor could be all of his dreams come true, if he gave him the chance.

* * *

Eobard dodged through the multitudes of people, his gaze searching the crowd, eyes flicking from one face to the next with quick motions, ears playing phantom musical impressions overlapped with the boring hum of the unimpressive humans around him. His heart raced. He felt his impatience growing, the nerves tingling just underneath, and he just wanted to-

_There._

Taelor Patel stood, too far away, speaking with someone else in that space that Eobard wanted to occupy. Taelor was smiling. He really had a gorgeous smile.

Eobard’s heart leapt to attention.

He hurried to the man as the person he was speaking with left. “That was a beautiful symphony, Taelor," he said without preamble.

“Thank you.” Taelor looked away for a moment, and Eobard tried to determine whether the hint of color he'd seen in the man's cheeks was real or if his imagination was just playing an elaborate trick on him. The latter wasn't that big of a stretch, he supposed. “To be honest," the musician continued, "...I thought of you, out there, listening.”

“You...did?” Warmth entered  _Eobard's_ face, now.

“Yeah.” Taelor glanced back. That was definitely the color red there - not Eobard's imagination. “And now, I know you thought it was beautiful.”

“A masterpiece. It’s easy to see how you became a conductor. You’re a genius with music.”

The color in Taelor's cheeks intensified. He smiled, glowing.

Eobard puffed up a little. “Hey,” he said. He hesitated. _Ah, screw it, now or never. If I don’t say it now, I’ll lose this chance_. “So, uh, there’s a wonderful little spot on the waterfront where you can get old-fashioned ice cream. You know, the kind with actual sugar in it?”

“Ah, I don’t believe I’ve ever had ice cream with real sugar in it.”

“It’s on their secret menu. We Thawnes have privileges, you know... Would you like to...meet with me sometime? At this place?”

Taelor’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his lips twitching. “Eobard Thawne, are you asking me on an _ice cream date_?”

Eobard’s heart stuttered. Nope, no. He’d screwed up, hadn't he? “Oh, uh, well, when you put it like that, I-”

"Because I’d like that.”

Oh.

Relief flooded him. Taelor understood, just like before. He understood that Eobard was trying. He understood that Eobard wasn't perfect, and he was okay with that. Somehow, he still liked him.

“Great!” Eobard felt a flood of happiness, trying his hardest not to shake with excitement. The future seemed golden now. “Well, when would be a good time for you?”

Taelor looked around, and his smile morphed into a more impish one. “Now?”

“Now?” Eobard echoed, confused, smile freezing in place.

“Yeah." Taelor gave a quick nod, eyes hopeful. "Unless you don’t like a little spontaneousness.”

Eobard wasn’t used to it. Growing up, every day was meticulously planned, and those habits had mostly carried into adulthood. Still, he had nothing to do tonight, and he wasn’t going to miss this chance. Besides... “Spontaneousness sounds fun, actually.’

Taelor grabbed his hand and practically pulled him toward the doors. Eobard hurried after. “W-wha-” he stuttered, suddenly finding himself in brilliant sunlight.

Taelor released his hold. “Oh, sorry. I thou-”

Eobard shook his head, feeling the smile return. “No, it’s fine.” He retook the Taelor's hand. “I just wasn’t expecting it, but...it’s nice.”

The man laughed.

Hand in hand, they walked together, speaking to each other, becoming better acquainted.

The small ice-cream shop was cozy and cute. The workers were friendly and welcoming. Eobard tried not to indulge himself and come here too often, but this was an occasion he was more than happy to be a little indulgent. They ordered and sat near the windows on the east side that gave a lovely view of the waterfront.

Taelor took a bite of the ice cream and his eyes went wide. He gave a happy noise. “Oh, this is fantastic!” He exclaimed. "I'll never be able to go back to the boring regular kind again."

“Mmhmm,” Eobard agreed, dragging his spoon from his mouth. The sweetness brought joy to all of his taste buds and also to his heart. "It's very good.” He nibbled his next bite more slowly, planning to savor it.

"You liked superheroes?" Taelor asked, drawing on a small detail Eobard had mentioned on their walk over.

So he’d remembered. That was definitely a great sign. If Taelor was hanging on to his words, then that meant- He internally frowned at his brain. He wished it would stop doing that. He barely knew this man for goodness’ sake, and already, it wanted to jump straight into the future - a future that was only a mere possibility! Why couldn’t it just let him enjoy the here and now?

"Oh, yeah. I was a regular nerd," Eobard grinned, pushing his thoughts away. "Not so much anymore."

"That’s rather adorable, Eobard.”

Eobard face started burning. _Adorable?_ He wasn't sure he'd heard anyone use that adjective on him except maybe his mother when he was five. “I, uh-”

“Who’s your favorite?" The conductor took another bite.

Eobard froze up. He should have anticipated the obvious question, but he hadn't.  

After a moment, he forced himself to open his mouth and utter words. “Oh. Oh, well, I uh, there are a lot and I-” he stumbled all over his verbose before managing, ”it's - uh, hard to choose, you know? All of the superheroes are and were incredible. Just look at the Justice League for example. Very incredible." He gazed at his chocolate-swirled ice cream which was starting to melt at the edges, smoothing out. He stirred it around with his spoon.

Taelor scoffed. "Oh, come on, if you were a _true_ nerd, you would've had that one hero you wanted to meet, get their autograph, the one hero you wanted to be when you grew up, the one you got teased about in school.” Then, a bit louder, he added, “I know who _mine_ was."

"Really. Yeah. Who?" Eobard sat his spoon down, the pleasure of eating his frozen treat abruptly diminished. He wasn't comfortable talking about this in the first place. He wondered if this is what speaking about one's ex-lover was like. Besides that, there was a part of him that knew he was going to be disappointed when Taelor said someone other than-

"The Flash.”

_What? I_ _mpossible, I can’t have met another Flash fan who is just like this. I can’t. But I have. This is too good to be a coincidence-_

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Taelor looked at him strange, giving an odd laugh. "What? You look like that's a shock?"

"Oh, no, not at all, I just..." Eobard trailed off, certain his face was _actually_ on fire. "I wasn't expecting you to say that."

"No? He's the savior of Central City, not to mention the _world_. He’s a founding member of the JLA and if it weren’t for him, none of us would be here today-"

-all of which Eobard knew well.

"He's also come back to us. Can you imagine? Most people thought he was dead."

Eobard felt a blissful sensation. A fan. Maybe one who was never as devoted as he was, but a fan nonetheless. This was good. His own adoration would be understood, and one day, far in the future, they’d both look back and laugh at how much of a fan he really was. Eobard would never keep secrets from someone he knew he could trust. "Actually, he's my favorite too."

Taelor’s brows furrowed. "I thought you said you couldn't choose."

"I...” Eobard sighed and looked down, mumbling, “I didn't want to embarrass myself if you didn't like him too."

“Come on, we’re just talking about our childhood favorites.” Taelor rolled his eyes, though not unkindly. "I’m a hard man to drive away, Eo. I have a high tolerance and a decent capacity for forgiveness - or so my mother says." He chuckled.

Eobard had to grin. “You’re also very understanding."

That was a weird thing to say, actually. He sighed at himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Oh,” Taelor’s brows dashed for his hairline. “Really. How do you figure?”

“Well- Well, for one, you didn’t laugh in my face just now and leave,” Eobard insisted, fidgeting with this spoon. “And two, it goes along with the kindness part... I guess.”

A look came over Taelor’s face. A sad one, Eobard realized with a jolt. This man was an open book, he thought, so free with his emotions. It was a wonderful change of pace from the usual stone-faced, false idiots he put up with on nearly a daily-basis. “You really are worried about disappointing someone, aren’t you?” Taelor asked softly, almost to himself.

Wait, was he...feeling bad on Eobard’s behalf? "Wh-" He started. His holoblock pinged, interrupting him. He fumbled it from his pocket. “Hang on a second."

He glanced down at the projection under the table.

_Eisla Thawne._

He swiped it out.

“Who was that?” Taelor asked, digging at his ice cream.

“No one. Must’ve been some kind of glitch,” Eobard replied, shrugging. "So, where were we? Ah, yes, superheroes. What do you think of the Green Arrow? I know he wasn’t technically a _superhero_ , just a hero, but they say he was the Flash’s best friend once he went on the straight and narrow - also a founding member of the JLA.”

* * *

The Flash sat on the tall tower, balanced carefully between two connecting walls, head leaning back against the corner. He gazed out across the panorama that was Central City. The sun was sinking in the west, its fiery light glimmering on smooth silver and white buildings reaching into the clouds from the megacity that stretched as far as the eye could see.

His thoughts kept returning to the press conference, but not for the reasons one might expect. The questions hurled at him hadn't bothered him. He had no regrets over what had happened all those years ago. Wally West had done what was necessary, no more. He was a hero, and the two of them hadn't even been close despite their former partnership. There was no regret. No. His shift to obscurity had been caused by a lack of desire to do anything even remotely heroic. He'd no longer seen a point to it. There was no joy, no meaning...

But decades later, he'd felt it, a feeling that had burned inside his supercharged cells, like the Speed Force itself was jumpstarting his passion again. He couldn't explain it, but it had made him decide to return, to live again as the Scarlet Speedster. 

And the very moment, the very instance he'd pushed back out into the world as _the Flash_ , he'd felt it _again -_ the desire to run, to fight, to be a hero, a warrior... The intensity had struck when his eyes had locked with another's - an intense, very brief moment - a face already forgotten, but those eyes. Blue. Bright. Calculating. Adoring. He could still see them clearly behind his own eyelids.

And he couldn't stop thinking about them or the feeling they'd caused.

His comms made a soft noise.

_"Yes?"_ He answered in a vibrating voice.

"Flash. I apologize, but we weren't able to uncover anything solid on that weapons gang."

_"I figured as much,"_ he replied.

"There is one certain thing we managed to learn, though."

_"What?"_

"Their leader. Apparently he wears high-ranking military armor that has been customized. We know this because it has a skull design on the shoulder. Some sources say he even has a personalized vehicle that is not automated. Dangerous, but untraceable."

_"And you don't have any other details for me?"_

"Nothing solid or confirmed. You'll have to wait until they come out of their hole again, most likely."

_"I don't like waiting."_ Flash cut the connection without waiting for a reply. Thoughts once again on the press conference, he stood. _It was likely nothing, just a spike in the Speed Force. Or my boredom finally catching up with me after all these years. Regardless, t_ _here's more important matters to attend to. If my usual sources are now unreliable, it looks like I'll have to do the legwork myself._

"Time to run," he murmured to himself, body coming alive with the energy of his power. He raced into his city with a burst of speed, leaving all of his musings behind him in a trail of golden lightning.

It was good to be back.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr now. [UnknownSatellite804](http://unknownsatellite804.tumblr.com/)


End file.
